


Sharing is Caring

by sunshine (sunshinepiveh)



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Sex, Ass to Mouth, Bathing/Washing, Blowjobs, Boot Worship, Caning, Confinement, Consensual Non-Consent, Cunnilingus, Enemas, Face-Fucking, Felching, Fisting, Foot Massage, Glory Hole, Hand Feeding, Humiliation, Impact Play, Kneeling, Master/Slave, Medical Kink, Mirror Universe, Objectification, Painplay, Rimming, Sensory Deprivation, Sounding, Speculum, Switching, Unsafe Sex, Use of the word Slut, Vulcan Mind Melds, bastindado, crawling, retention enema
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2017-12-01
Packaged: 2019-02-09 04:07:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12879855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshinepiveh/pseuds/sunshine
Summary: This is my submission for the 2017 K/S Advent.Original Prompt: Mirror or half-mirror. Either Kirk or Spock is captain and the other their slave (but in fact they are much more to each other). It is tradition on a starship that the captain shares their slave with the crew during holiday season. Angst with a happy ending, please.betaed by: little monkfish





	Sharing is Caring

**Author's Note:**

> Please check out the other K/S Advent submissions this season here: http://ksadvent.livejournal.com/
> 
> ~~~

 

_~~~_

 

Ah, the holiday season. Captain Kirk smiled as he strolled through his ship, taking in the signs of enjoyment. The Terran Empire contained numerous winter holiday celebrations, and though there was no winter in space, the northern hemisphere of the home planet seemed to still dictate the decorations of the _I.S.S. Enterprise_ , all the way out in space. Facsimiles of pine trees and fake snow were stuffed into every available nook and cranny, decorated with the colourful baubles of the season.

 

Discipline in the Empire needed to be strictly enforced, and that was true of the holidays as well, though Kirk allowed his crew their frivolities. Music piped over the speakers, decorations adorned the halls. Even the mess offered a variety of holiday fare, though the synthesizers butchered the holiday treats as much as they did their regular meals. Still, the food squares were just a bit more festive.

 

Good spirits were important for keeping order. This, Kirk knew. Fear, yes. Discipline, yes. But the crew also required a periodic release. Sometimes that meant he’d look the other way when a fight broke out, rather than enforcing corrective action. But in the winter? It meant giving his crew these festivities. In fact, the Secret Santa program and the crew holiday party would be strictly enforced. No one was exempt from the holiday spirit.

 

Of course the one thing his senior crew were most looking forward to was a tradition shared between every starship in the Terran Empire. The day where the senior crew were able to lay hands on the First Officer.

 

Normally, much like the Captain, the First Officer (or second in command) was off limits to every other member of the crew. He was to be shown proper respect, and obeyed without question. This was the sort of control Commander Spock exercised over his crew the entire rest of the year. But during the holiday season, the senior-most crew were able to release a bit of the tension and resentment that tended to build toward authority. Each of them would have their turn with Commander Spock, and Spock would be forced to simply endure their attentions, so long as they followed the most basic of rules. No permanent damage was the gist of it.

 

Of course, it had to be the First Officer that was shared with the rest of the senior staff, and not the Captain himself. To undermine the ultimate authority on the starship would be to invite chaos, open rebellion, and that couldn’t be tolerated. But Kirk was content to hand out Spock to the mercy of his crew.

 

~~~

 

“Are you ready for tonight, Commander Spock?” Kirk asked from his Captain’s chair on the bridge.

 

“Yes, Captain,” Spock answered stoically, and clasped his hands behind his back, body going even more stiff than it already had been. The rest of the crew snickered at their stations at the Vulcan rigidity. In addition to the delight in getting to abuse and humiliate a superior officer, on the _Enterprise_ it was all the sweeter for the fact that Spock was Vulcan. With his formidable strength and tightly controlled anger, seeing him submit would mean more.

 

“I suppose you’re up first tonight, Mister Sulu,” Kirk said, eyeing his scarred head of security. “And I suppose Mister Chekov will be joining you?”

 

Kirk smirked as he watched Sulu tense, just for a fraction of a second, and Chekov blushed. The casual question was Kirk’s way of letting Sulu know he knew exactly what kind of secret relationship the two of them had been carrying on. There was little that went on in Kirk’s ship that he did not know about.

 

“Yes, Captain,” Sulu said evenly, and went back to his task.

 

Kirk had chosen the order of who would spend their time with his First Officer. Tradition dictated that it should be based on rank, but in the Terran Empire rank was a more fluid thing. As Chief Medical Officer, in some ways Doctor McCoy outranked even the Captain. Scotty, his Chief Engineer was technically third in line after Spock, but Sulu was most likely to actually advance in rank due to his ambition, and so their relative positions on the ship were in a sort of competition with one another.

 

Uhura, as his head of Communications was a high ranking officer, but a woman, which was often frowned on. And Chekov was low enough ranking that he wouldn’t normally get a turn with Spock at all, except by his association to Sulu.

 

Kirk had decided to finalize the order as follows: First Sulu and Chekov would have Spock, then he’d proceed to Sickbay to spend time with Doctor McCoy. After that, it was Engineering with Scotty, then Uhura, and finally he’d report back to Kirk at the end of the night. Kirk hoped Spock was rested. It would be a long evening for him.

 

~~~

 

**Sulu and Chekov**

 

Sulu paced his quarters waiting for the arrival of Spock. No longer his First Officer or Commander, but his slave for the next while, once he arrived. He’d changed his own uniform into his preferred leather pants and plain black cotton shirt, as he thought it lent him an air of casual danger. His boy Chekov was also attired to his tastes and knelt obediently on the floor. Tight latex shorts clung to Chekov’s skin and hid little as the rest of him remained bare, save for the leather collar around his throat. His head remained bowed and he was silent, as he’d learned the repercussions for disobeying that order before. Though Sulu did see him twitch once in a while with restless energy all the same. The considerable plug he wore under those latex shorts couldn’t be helping. Sulu smirked.

 

The door chimed, and Spock entered, still fully dressed in his uniform and looking stiff as always. He clasped his hands behind his back, standing rigid and tall, his goatee immaculate. Sulu scowled, and wanted nothing more than to take him down a notch. The door slid closed.

 

“Clothes off,” Sulu snapped at him in a cold voice. “Then stand for inspection.” Sulu watched the show as inch by inch of pale Vulcan skin was revealed, though Spock’s emotionless countenance didn’t budge in the slightest. Sulu cast half an eye at his selection of tools. Pain, he’d always thought, was the great equalizer. He would see whether he could break through that stoic Vulcan façade. And while agonizers and the pain booth were clean and modern ways of enforcing discipline among the crew, Sulu preferred a more hands on approach. As Spock stood unashamedly naked before him, Sulu surveyed his options, and selected a thin, flexible switch. He cut it once through the air, and heard the tell tale slice. He couldn’t wait to see it crack against Spock’s skin.

 

“First, we’re going to warm up those pretty palms,” Sulu informed him, tapping the switch on his own open hand, gently. His sharp eyes saw the faintest twitch in Spock’s form. “Then we’ll move on to the bottoms of your feet. Would you prefer to be bound?” he offered, because he wasn’t a monster.

 

Spock swallowed, but maintained his damned Vulcan dignity. “No, Sir,” he answered.

 

Sulu’s lips pressed into a frustrated line. Stubborn. The Vulcan was stubborn, and if Spock were his boy on a longer term basis than this one night he’d teach him to take what mercies he could get. “Fine,” he said shortly. “Elbows at your sides, forearms out in front of you, parallel to the floor. Palms up,” Sulu instructed in clipped words, for now ignoring his boy Chekov entirely. This night was primarily about Spock. Chekov would get his turn.

 

Sulu paced around as Spock held his position. It was awkward, and inelegant, and with nothing secure to brace himself against. Sulu preferred to keep his victims off balance. With a sudden crack, he brought the switch down across Spock’s open palms and heard him suck in a pained breath. He didn’t miss the way that Spock’s jaw clenched or how his eyes momentarily fell shut as a green line blossomed on his hands. Switching someone across their palms would sting on any person, Sulu knew, but on a Vulcan’s sensitive hands it would be ten times worse. He’d made the mistake of trying to paddle Spock’s ass the Christmas before and had been disappointed by the Vulcan’s stoicism throughout. Since then he’d done his research.

 

“That was one,” Sulu told him. “You’ll receive twenty. Count them out, and thank me after each one. You may refer to me this evening simply as Sir.” Because this wasn’t a work engagement, he preferred not to bring his title up at all, and he certainly wasn’t Spock’s Master.

 

“One,” Spock answered dutifully. “Thank you, Sir.”

 

A second crack rang out in the silent room, though Spock had braced for it and responded less the second time. Sulu was a master at his craft, and as he rained down the blows Spock’s palms showed a series of brilliant, parallel green lines, not a one of them breaking the skin. By the tenth blow, Sulu heard the hoarse edge to Spock’s voice. By the fifteenth he saw the tremble in the man’s delicate fingers, unmarred until now by any manual labour. Soft, and the perfect canvass for his art. By the twentieth and final blow, Sulu was pleased to see the tension throughout Spock’s body -- distress bleeding through the cracks. It was subtle on a Vulcan, Sulu knew, but he’d trained himself in what to look for.

 

Sulu set aside the switch and combed his hand through the taller man’s hair, like he would his own boy’s. Spock remained stoic, staring blankly ahead, but he could feel the slight tremble in the man in reaction to the facsimile of comfort. “Very good,” Sulu praised him, and wondered whether for someone as proud as Spock the words rankled or reassured. It didn’t matter either way, Sulu supposed.

 

“Lay out on the bed on your stomach. Legs together. It’s time for your feet.” Sulu’s voice was measured and calm, and that often had all the more chilling an effect on his victims. If Spock felt chilled, Sulu didn’t know, but the man immediately obeyed. Sulu cast his glance at Chekov who still knelt in the corner. His head was bowed, but he’d broken form slightly to watch what was happening, and the tent in his tight shorts wasn’t subtle. Sulu decided to overlook the break in form. It was, after all, the holidays.

 

His most delicate switch had been ideal for Spock’s tender palms, but for the feet he took up a thin, willowy cane. Perfect for bastinado.

 

“Count,” Sulu instructed simply, knowing that Spock was brilliant and would figure out that Sulu wanted him to count the same way as before. He wasn’t disappointed. He cracked down the cane across the bare soles of Spock’s feet.

 

“One!” Spock’s voice was louder than strictly necessary, another crack in the façade. “Thank you, Sir.” He modulated himself as best he could to a more suitable volume.

 

Sulu felt pleasure curl in his belly. Clearly, Spock was a complete novice to this type of pain. It was difficult for most people to imagine just how painful the soles of the feet were capable of becoming. He laid out a second precise stripe with the cane, and delighted in the slight twitch of Spock’s feet as they instinctively wanted to shy away. After twenty such strokes to Spock’s feet, the Vulcan was clearly in pain. That was to say, it was clear to someone as skilled at reading the subtle cues as was Sulu. To a casual observer, perhaps the Vulcan would still seem to be mostly in control of himself. But Sulu could see the involuntary trembles and twitches. He’d heard the fraying control in the Vulcan’s voice. He brushed a finger along the verdant lines on one sole and saw Spock tremble with the pain of it. He grinned.

 

“Are you enjoying yourself, pet?” Sulu taunted him as he rubbed a hand proprietously up one strong leg. Spock hesitated, then chose the correct answer.

 

“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”

 

“You’re welcome,” Sulu answered indulgently. “Hands and knees. You’ll get what you need.” As Spock adjusted to his hands and knees, Sulu saw the flinch as his sore hands came into contact with the bedding and bore his weight. Spock spread his legs wide, revealing his own cock was flushed a pale green and chubbed partway to an erection, exposing the truth of the matter: that Vulcans did feel, and were vulnerable to sex just like humans. Perhaps Spock was a slut for this sort of treatment, Sulu mused, or perhaps he was just a slut.

 

As for Sulu’s own cock, it was hard as a rock after such extensive foreplay. He set his cane aside and palmed himself through his pants. “Chekov,” he called his boy, and Chekov’s head shot up eagerly.

 

“Yes, Master?”

 

“Prepare him for me,” Sulu instructed him. “Mouth first, then fingers. Don’t take too long.”

 

“Yes, Master!” Chekov scurried onto the bed without wasting a moment, grateful for the opportunity. He didn’t hesitate for a second as he dove into Spock’s crack, swiping it lustily with his tongue as the Vulcan let out an involuntary, soft sound at the treatment. His toes started to curl. Chekov was very good at what he did. Even in his impatience to get on with it, Sulu enjoyed the little show.

 

Then there was lube and fingers and Sulu’s patience thinned, but he remembered the Captain’s warnings about what kind and what amount of damage was acceptable to his first officer. While he didn’t care one iota for Spock’s comfort, he didn’t want the Vulcan to tear. At least not when the Captain might hear about it.

 

“He’s ready,” Sulu interrupted when he saw Chekov fucking two lubed fingers into the Vulcan with ease. Spock’s hips twitched and followed the motion as Chekov exited him and Sulu was quick to kneel up on the bed and slick his own cock. He’d unbuttoned his pants just enough to fish himself out, and was more than eager to relieve some of his tension.

 

Sulu was quick in his fuck, and brutal. This wasn’t about finesse or making love. At this point in the session he simply wanted to come, and that was his prerogative. If he wanted a slower fuck later, after all, he always had Chekov. He didn’t check the state of Spock’s cock, but he did hear the stifled sounds of pleasure, saw the way Spock’s back arched and his ass clenched against the intrusion. If only the Captain knew that Spock was such a little slut, perhaps he’d put the man in his place more often. Then again, perhaps he did know.

 

Sulu came with a relieved groan, and pulled out abruptly, snapping his fingers at Chekov who had waited dutifully to the side. His boy rushed forward to clean him off with his mouth, not balking at where Sulu’s cock had been. His cock almost twitched to life anew to see Chekov so readily debase himself.

 

Sulu glanced at where Spock knelt, and saw that the Vulcan was hard as a rock and unsatisfied. Well, it wasn’t for him to enjoy the holidays, was it? He’d have to take care of himself, when he found the time, or perhaps one of the others would be more merciful with him.

 

“Clean him out,” Sulu directed at Chekov as he closed his own pants up and moved off the bed. Chekov obediently began to lick and suck at Spock’s stretched hole, only adding to his arousal. Spock’s control was frayed, though he did his best to bite back little aborted whimpers and moans.

 

“When Chekov’s through with you, you can go,” Sulu told Spock, dismissing him as he retreated to the other side of his bed screen. There he sat down to enjoy a drink and relax a moment. Once he’d recovered somewhat, he’d be sure to give his good boy a reward. Chekov had been patient.

 

Spock was silent when he finally retreated, and stiff and formal as always, though Sulu could see the hesitance with which he took each step. His feet had to be killing him, and his ass was no doubt still sore and creamy, gaping ever so slightly open. The memory would warm Sulu for the rest of the coming year.

 

~~~

 

**Doctor McCoy**

 

The Sickbay doors slid open and closed again, and Doctor McCoy looked up from his computer tucked into the corner of the room. Commander Spock stood with his shoulders back and head high as always, but McCoy knew he’d been to see Sulu first. There had to be evidence left of the encounter on his body, and McCoy was curious to find it. At any rate, now was his own appointment, and he’d been waiting. He’d cleared the sickbay of any lingering patients hours before, sending them off to rest in their rooms if they remained incapable of returning to duty, and he’d sent off his nurse as well. McCoy stood from his desk and strode to the door, typing in a passcode to lock the doors to everyone but the Captain. He didn’t mean to be interrupted.

 

“Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in,” he drawled.

 

Spock itched to sass at him, and McCoy could tell. He smiled smugly to see the Vulcan knocked off his high horse for a change. He and Spock might compete for power on a regular basis, but tonight, Spock was his.

 

“Take your clothes off, unless you want me to get creative with my scalpel and take them off for you,” McCoy told him. “And I don’t need to tell you not to bother with one of the gowns.”

 

Spock began to methodically strip off his uniform, placing the items aside neatly for later and McCoy watched him with half an eye as he pulled over the supplies he’d already prepared for his entertainment. He saw the slight tremble in Spock’s hands and narrowed his gaze. That type of nervousness would make sense in a human, but not a Vulcan. In fact, Spock might not be nervous at all, he thought, as he caught sight of the vibrant green stripes.

 

McCoy strode forward and grasped one of Spock’s wrists, halting him in his undressing so that he could inspect the damaged palm. McCoy let out a low hiss at what he saw. Sulu certainly had done a number on him. Spock endured his inspection, saying nothing.

 

“Play your cards right with me, and I just might take the regenerator to that before you leave here,” McCoy told him.

 

Spock hesitated, before moving to undress again. “And my feet as well?” he asked haltingly, perhaps afraid it was too much, or afraid of the answer.

 

McCoy scowled at the knowledge Sulu had gotten the bottoms of his feet too. The man was a damned sadist. McCoy didn’t want to be seen as soft though, so he didn’t commit. “We’ll see.”

 

“On the bench, Mister Spock,” McCoy ordered with a dangerous smirk. “You’re well past due for your physical.” The doctor snapped on a pair of latex gloves, and wheeled his cart closer. An industrial sized pump bottle of lube dominated the scene, but there was also a metal speculum and a series of thin, metal sounds.

 

Spock knew the routine by now from past experience, and his countenance stiffened with fear, or distaste, or perhaps eager anticipation as he sat himself on the bench as McCoy had ordered him, short-wise and back against the wall.

 

“Feet up,” McCoy directed, and Spock put his feet on the bench as well, knees falling to the side and legs splayed wide, exposing his genitals. He closed his eyes in mortification, and opened them again as he felt McCoy’s clinical touch.

 

“Do you frequently sport half an erection, Mister Spock?” McCoy asked in a formal tone. “That could be symptomatic of a number of serious conditions. I am afraid we’ll have to test you further.”

 

McCoy stopped fondling him and dropped his cock, one gloved finger trailing further south as Spock was forced to lean back on his elbows, further exposing himself. McCoy scowled, dipping his finger into the loose hole and bringing it out again, coated in lube and cum. It had been impossible for Chekov to remove all of it with only his mouth, and Spock flushed again at McCoy’s inspection.

 

“Disgusting,” McCoy pronounced. “I can see your lack of hygiene is utterly appalling. Before we can proceed further, I’ll simply have to clean you out.”

 

Spock’s eyes widened at that as he glanced at the table McCoy had wheeled over. This was deviating from the year prior. McCoy smiled smugly and pulled a cloth off something he’d covered. An enema bag had been hooked to the side of the wheeled cart, already fully prepped, the built-in regulator keeping it the perfect temperature for Spock’s norm. “Now don’t you worry your pretty little head. I’ll get you all cleaned up nice, sweet thing,” he said, and began to liberally lubricate the nozzle. “You just lean back right where you are.”

 

There was no need to stretch Spock further. He’d fingered Spock briefly to test, and could tell that Sulu had loosened his hole up considerably. Now it was just a matter of sliding the blunt nozzle in and up into Spock’s bowels as Spock laid down even further on the bench to accommodate the angle. McCoy knew that Spock hated finding himself in positions of vulnerability and that was what made the enema all the more appealing.

 

McCoy flicked the release valve and the water began to flow. Then he sat down on a stool nearby to wait, as he gently trailed the backs of his fingers over Spock’s trembling stomach, watching and feeling as it slowly expanded. The gentle petting was part of it, too. The reticent Vulcan would never normally allow himself to be touched, and certainly not so intimately. And in the Terran Empire? Only those most trusted would be allowed to touch someone on their abdomen anyway. It was far too easy to produce a knife.

 

Spock let out a soft sound of distress as his stomach began to swell, and McCoy pressed his fingers in more firmly, helping to work the water further inside of him. “That’s it, darlin’,” he cooed. “We’re about halfway there. You do want to get nice and clean, don’t you?”

 

This, McCoy knew, was when most people would begin to panic. He knew for a medical fact what the body was capable of holding, and the volume of this enema, while challenging, wasn’t too much. But for those uninitiated in the experience, it would feel as if they were about to burst. And while the Vulcan tried desperately to maintain his dignity, McCoy could see that his breaths were far too carefully regulated, could see a bit of wildness in his eyes. But most of all, he could see Spock’s bloated belly, the skin stretched taut and obscene as he was filled to the brim.

 

Finally the enema bag was empty, and McCoy began to ease out the nozzle, reaching for a lubricated plug to hold the water in place. His fingers were nimble as he deftly made the switch, Spock not having time to lose a drop though his hole spasmed and his gut clenched in response, causing painful cramping. Spock grunted, and forced himself to try to relax.

 

“You just let that do its work for a few minutes,” McCoy told him, smoothing his hand over the swell of Spock’s stomach. “In the meantime, I want to take a look at that cock of yours. Make sure nothing’s wrong on the inside.”

 

He’d considered catheterizing Spock, but he decided that if the Vulcan had had to go, he would have gone, and honestly the sounds themselves were more enjoyable. At least for him. He’d never actually asked Spock what he thought.

 

Instead of asking now, he stroked the Vulcan’s semi-tumescent cock to full hardness as Spock watched on helplessly, his body and its responses completely out of his control. Ignoring his discomfort and struggle entirely, McCoy chose the thinnest metal rod and lubricated it liberally, then used a syringe to squirt some down Spock’s urethra as well for good measure. With clinical attention, he began to slowly ease the metal inside of Spock’s cock, and the Vulcan gasped quietly at the sensation. Whether pleasant or uncomfortable, the sensation was sure to be intense.

 

McCoy’s lips twisted into a pleased smile as he eased the metal further in, feeling satisfied when he finally felt it hit the base of the cock. Spock’s thighs were trembling by then, though that could have also been from the retained enema. Gently, McCoy fucked the metal rod in and out of Spock’s penis as Spock gave a helpless little whimper, unable to swallow the sound.

 

“Alright, darlin’. You leave this right where I left it,” he indicated the sounding rod, “but I’ll let you up to go use the bathroom. Do you think you can handle the plug yourself, or do you need me to help you?”

 

“I can handle myself,” Spock said roughly, though he didn’t shrug off McCoy’s help as the doctor helped to ease his trembling, swollen body off the bench. Spock held his cock carefully to keep the sounding rod in place, and waddled across Sickbay to the bathroom stall on the other end of the room.

 

“Leave the door open,” McCoy instructed, and watched from where he sat as Spock struggled to squat above the toilet without losing his balance, stepping tenderly still on his damaged feet. Then he hovered enough to reach behind him and pull the plug, sitting abruptly and groaning as the water hit the bowl. It was a messy and loud affair, which could have filled McCoy with innate disgust, but he relished it. He relished it because of the humiliation Spock clearly felt to be seen in so vulnerable a position, helpless against the demands of his body. It took some time to expel that volume of water, but when he’d finished, he wiped himself clean, and made his way on shaky legs back to the medical bench, still clutching his cock which McCoy noted had remained tumescent throughout. The sounding rod may have encouraged some of that response, but not all. His Vulcan as always was a secret slut.

 

“Back in position,” he ordered, then took over the sounding rod, fucking it in and out of Spock with steady motions. The Vulcan, drained of both water and fight simply laid back and let it happen. What other choice did he have, anyway? It was only logical that he submit.

 

When he was satisfied that Spock’s urethra was acclimated, he removed the first sounding rod and reached for the second. A bit thicker, a bit more sensation for the Vulcan to grapple with. Spock let out an involuntary little sound as he felt the new stretch as McCoy eased it inside of him, millimeter by excruciating millimeter. His cock was a brilliant green, and McCoy had to assume that whatever Sulu had done to the Vulcan earlier hadn’t gotten him off.

 

When the second sounding rod was inserted fully, McCoy left it in place as he had before, and turned his attention back to Spock’s ass, now clean and exhausted. His lubed finger had gone in easily enough when Spock had arrived. Now two fingers slipped in with no resistance at all, his hole pliant and having given up the fight. McCoy worked them in and out of Spock a little while, before grabbing his trusty metal speculum and inserting the cold metal into Spock’s rectum, causing him to shiver. He could have warmed it up first to make Spock more comfortable, but what would have been the fun in that?

 

“Let’s just take a look inside of this slutty hole,” McCoy told him, cranking the device open slowly as Spock’s anal walls were stretched wide, his hole gaping and exposed. There wasn’t anything that McCoy was actually looking for, but seeing the Vulcan submit to his attentions filled him with delight. He slipped his fingers back inside, prodding and rubbing against Spock’s prostate. His plugged cock gave a twitch and Spock let out a choked off groan.

 

“Don’t worry, darlin’. I can see now exactly what you need. You need to feel somethin’ deep inside.”

 

McCoy released the speculum and let it fold closed, then eased it carefully out of Spock’s hole. He gave the sounding rod a few gentle fucks in and out of Spock’s cock to make sure he was still stimulated, then he reached for the industrial sized lube. Now, he began to coat not only his first fingers, but every inch of his hand and forearm alike. If the Vulcan was disturbed by the knowledge of what was going to happen to him, he didn’t show it. Perhaps he’d missed this from last holiday season as much as McCoy had.

 

Even with as lax as Spock’s hole had become so far, it was slow work to fit a whole hand inside the Vulcan. Though McCoy noted that Spock did help to the extent he was able, consciously relaxing his muscles as much as he could in the disciplines of his people. But bodily control only went so far, and in the end it was McCoy’s own patience that always won out. One finger became two, and two eased into three. Four was always a tight fit, but by the time Spock’s hole had come to accept them, McCoy was more than ready to tuck his thumb in and cone his fingers, easily slipping past the widest part of his knuckles and into the soft heat of Spock’s bowels. They clenched like a soft glove around him as Spock’s breathing became erratic, his face broken with a display of raw sensation.

 

With satisfaction, McCoy slowly curled his fingers into a fist, and began to ease it in and out of Spock as the Vulcan let out a raw and vulnerable sort of sob, but not of discomfort. McCoy carefully used his free hand to rock the sounding rod in and out of Spock’s cock a few more times, then pulled it out at once as Spock’s whole body seized and trembled. Inside, McCoy rocked his fist back and forth, in and out against Spock’s swollen prostate, and that was all it took to send him over the edge. With a raw cry, Spock came wetly across his abdomen, his hole clenching rhythmically around McCoy’s fist as he continued to gently rock it in and out, extending Spock’s orgasm.

 

When Spock was finally depleted, he lay trembling and gasping for breath, completely undone at the hands of the doctor. Only then did McCoy carefully ease his fist out and grab some medical wipes to clean them both up. Spock laid passively on the bench as he worked, not even trying to maintain the guise of dignity.

 

“Good boy,” McCoy told him, gently carding his fingers through Spock’s hair, and the goateed man looked helplessly at him, having nothing to say in response. McCoy decided that Spock’s obedience deserved a bit of a reward, and neither of them said anything about it as he used the dermal regenerator on both Spock’s hands and feet, erasing the damage Sulu had done. Though McCoy didn’t do a thing about Spock’s gaping hole, or the lube steadily dripping out of it. Spock could take that along with him as a souvenir.

 

McCoy smiled smugly at how unsteady Spock was on his feet as he dressed himself again, and how gingerly he walked as he left sickbay.

 

~~~

 

**Scotty**

 

Scotty didn’t even notice when the Vulcan had entered Engineering at first, and that was the way he preferred it. He didn’t like distractions to his work, and certainly not from those meant to serve him in some way. When he finally looked up from the part he’d been tightening, he saw Mister Spock standing out of the way, observing his work. Though he stood with as much quiet dignity as he could muster, Scotty knew that the Vulcan had already been to see Sulu and Doctor McCoy, and he was looking a bit frayed around the edges. His uniform was slightly rumpled. His perfect hair just slightly out of place. And when he gestured for Spock to come closer, Spock moved with a ginger step. Well, no matter.

 

Scotty wiped the grease from his hands and forearms onto the rag hanging halfway out of his pocket, though it did little good. Here in the bowels of the ship, there was little getting away from the dirt. Not when there was work to do.

 

“I found a nice spot for yeh this year, Mister Spock.” Scotty grinned, and led the way deeper down into a more cluttered area. Pipes and machinery crowded in around them and the ambient hum of the ship increased in volume.

 

“Indeed?” Spock answered readily enough, and Scotty spared half a second to wonder whether Spock had any preference at all in regards to their arrangement. Not that it mattered.

 

Scotty stepped aside to reveal his latest alcove. Every year he had set up another. This one, he’d already test run with one of the available others on the ship, though it was rare that he bothered to get someone down to Engineering. Having to go out of his way for it would only be a distraction.

 

Now though, he showed Spock the little panel that opened up to reveal various computer components, with just enough space for a man to crouch if he folded in on himself and made himself small. The door would shut, leaving the man in darkness and silence but for the hum of the ship. A little hole cut into the door and carefully smoothed down might have offered a bit of light. Instead, it was at the perfect height for someone standing to press their cock into, right into a warm, willing mouth.

 

With his view across Engineering, Scotty would see a maze of pipes and Jeffries tubes, hanging wires and exposed gears. His kingdom. And there in the distance, the blue glow of the dilithium crystals. The perfect scenery with which to relax.

 

“Well, in yeh get,” Scotty encouraged Spock, though the Vulcan eyed the small space dubiously. He swallowed any complaint he had, and moving carefully he crouched down and tried to fold his long limbs into the tight space. It took some doing. Perhaps Spock was claustrophobic; Scotty didn’t know, and he’d never ask. At any rate, there was no _logical_ reason to be concerned. There was space enough, and basic mechanics and geometry could tell you that.

 

Once tightly ensconced inside, head at the correct level, Scotty gently shut the door, sealing Spock in. Then he took a moment to breathe in and relax. It was quiet now. It was getting later in the night; most of the crew were at rest during Delta shift. They were flying through an area of dead space -- another reason Engineering was rather boring the last few days, with no problems needing his or others’ attention. And it was the holiday season. A time when the rest of the crew gathered in groups and made merry, but left his workspace largely alone. Scotty soaked in the silence, punctuated only by the little hums and clicks that meant the ship was in good working order. And with Spock sealed away out of sight, he could almost believe he was there by himself.

 

Scotty undid his fly just enough to fish himself out, giving his cock a few strokes as he let himself relax and drift. He wasn’t over-eager like so many others in the ship. He wasn’t hard just at the anticipation of what he was about to do. He took his time and worked up to it, relaxing into the sensations. When he was ready, he pressed himself into the smooth little hole and was immediately engulfed in soft, wet heat. He sighed at the comfort of the sensation, ignoring the reality of where it came from.

 

There was a slight suction, but mostly it was up to Scotty to rock his hips, thrusting gently in and out of the welcoming hole. He could rest his hands on the top of the box, or grab onto various metal struts for leverage as he fucked himself in and out. He could almost let himself forget who was in the little alcove. It had become an object to him, a simple instrument of his pleasure.

 

The hum of the engines drowned out any slurping sounds or little grunts. Scotty took his time with the experience, but eventually he simply wanted release, and sped his thrusts up until the exercise reached its inevitable conclusion. He came with a sigh of release as he pumped his seed into the void, the wet heat contracting rhythmically around him, whisking the evidence of his deed away.

 

When he was thoroughly finished, he pulled himself free of the little hole and did his trousers up again, his cock perfectly clean with no mess for him to address, just as he preferred it. He released the little catch to the door of the panel as he strode away. The toy would see itself out.

 

~~~

 

**Uhura**

 

When Spock entered her quarters, Uhura thought he looked like pure sex. His hair and uniform were entirely dishevelled. His walk held the sort of hesitance only found in those who’d been thoroughly fucked. And even his lips, so thin and stern normally, had a slightly swollen look about them. She could only imagine what he’d been doing with that mouth. She smirked.

 

“You know the rules, Commander,” she said silkily. Some of the crew shied away from acknowledging Spock’s title, but not Uhura. She revelled in the fact that such a high ranking official would grovel to her.

 

Spock sunk down onto his knees, bowing his head. Here, in her quarters for the night, he would crawl. “Yes, Mistress,” he told her, recalling her preferred form of address in this scenario.

 

“Clothes off, Commander,” she instructed. “I want to see you.”

 

Undressing while knelt on the floor could be an awkward task, but Spock managed, then crawled to kneel at Uhura’s feet where she sat. She carded her fingers through his hair, nails scratching lightly against his scalp as she observed him.

 

“I think first I want to see you lick these boots clean, Commander. And if you do a thorough job, I’ll see what else I can be convinced to let your tongue do.”

 

Spock folded himself forward even further, looking small as he crouched at her feet. Naked and vulnerable, just like she preferred her men. In the Empire, it was difficult for a woman to rise among the ranks, but Uhura had managed to make herself an invaluable senior officer, and she had her sights set higher. The misogyny inherent in the system didn’t deter her. She had a high opinion of her worth, and she let herself indulge tonight in the treatment of a goddess. Seeing a superior crouched before her, licking the toe of her boot, _debasing himself_ , was exquisite. A woman aboard this ship might be expected to debase herself on any given day. But to see the reticent Vulcan kneeling at her feet was a treat.

 

“Very good, Commander,” she said at length. “Now remove my boots and socks, and you may begin to rub my feet. I’d like to relax after a long day.”

 

“Yes, Mistress,” Spock answered, and obeyed dutifully.

 

Bit by bit, Uhura slouched further in her chair as she browsed her PADD. Spock really was good at what he did. She wondered idly if he’d ever done this for anyone other than her, or if he was just a natural. The man was a genius; perhaps he was good at everything he tried. At any rate, it was to her benefit as she slowly began to relax, tension draining out of her as nimble thumbs pressed into her soles.

 

She sighed a gentle exhale. “That’s perfect, Commander. Now work your way up my legs with your mouth. You know what I want.” She spread her legs wide, revealing that she’d already removed the panties underneath her short skirt. Now she’d get some quality relaxation, with Spock’s attention solely on her.

 

He pressed his lips to her skin, working slowly up her legs with soft kisses, his beard lightly scratching at her skin. When he reached that hidden cleft between her legs, she was pleased to note he took his time. Tonight was about her, and he wasn’t allowed to rush or dictate pace or technique. In fact, for whatever reason, Spock’s own cock hung limply between his legs. Uhura had speculated about it before, though in the end she didn’t care. Perhaps he had a preference for men, perhaps only Vulcans. Perhaps it was the dynamic between them that thoroughly turned him off, or perhaps the rumours were true and Vulcans could really only mate once every seven years. Whatever the reason, it only helped underscore the point of the exercise: that tonight was about her pleasure, not about his.

 

Spock licked and sucked at her gently, giving just the right amount of pressure when and where it was needed, taking his time and allowing the sensations to build. It was patient work, work that most of her lovers hadn’t had a knack for, but Spock as in all things was a quick learner. Uhura only wished that he were available for her use more often in the year. Perhaps he would be one day, if she managed to work her way up to captain.

 

When she came, it was with the smallest of whimpers, but her legs clamped around Spock’s head like a vice as she trembled. He might have suffocated there; she didn’t care. All she was aware of were the waves of pleasure as his tongue continued to press and work her, her hips undulating instinctively as she rode out the continuing wave.

 

Drained of her energy, she let her legs fall again, splayed wide still but limp as noodles. She rested with her eyes closed, her breathing deep and even.

 

“Dismissed, Commander,” she said, and listened to the small rustling sounds as Spock cleaned himself as best he could and dressed again to leave.

 

~~~

 

**Kirk**

 

Kirk switched off the screen of his super weapon, that which allowed him to kill any member of his crew with only the press of a button. It was a powerful tool, one that had helped solidify his power. But tonight he’d been using it for another reason. As it allowed him to view anywhere inside of his ship, he’d been using it simply to watch Commander Spock and ensure his well-being. Now he knew that his precious boy was on the way back to their quarters and would be there any moment. He moved to the door to receive him.

 

The door snicked open and then closed again behind Spock, and Jim wrapped his arms around him as the Vulcan fell into the warm embrace. “Did you enjoy yourself tonight?” he asked, carding his hand through Spock’s  mussed hair.

 

“Yes, Captain,” Spock murmured against his neck, where he’d tucked his face. He sounded tired, but sated. Jim knew how much the Vulcan secretly loved the holidays and his time being passed around to the others. It wasn’t safe to reveal such a weakness when one was in a position of power. It was too easy to exploit. But here in Kirk’s quarters he could care for his First Officer, and the holidays were the perfect excuse to pass him around for some added fun.

 

Jim tilted Spock’s head up to look him in the eyes, searching for any signs of discontent that he hadn’t been able to pick up on from the screen. But no. Thankfully, Spock seemed perfectly fine, if tired. Jim pressed his lips to Spock’s and felt his mouth open willingly. He tasted Uhura’s sweetness still on Spock’s tongue.

 

“Let’s get you undressed,” Jim said, easing Spock away from him. He kept a steadying hand on Spock at all times as he looked ready to collapse. And why wouldn’t he, after all he’d been through? “Then we’ll take a nice hot bath. Let me take care of you.”

 

“Yes, Captain,” Spock answered again. When he was so exhausted, he tended to go nearly silent. Jim didn’t mind. He simply eased Spock over to sit on the bed, and did the work of undressing for him. Spock had been made to do it himself enough for one night. Jim would give him this, and more.

 

When Spock had been  maneuvered out of his clothes, Jim helped him relocate to the bathroom, and encouraged Spock to brush his teeth and use the toilet while he filled the oversized tub -- a perk of the Captain’s quarters. He made the water as hot as he could stand, and the room filled with soothing steam. While the tub filled, Jim undressed himself as well, and then helped ease Spock into the water. He snugged himself in behind Spock and against the porcelain, cuddling Spock back into the V of his legs. Spock leaned into him without prompting, tilting his head to rest on his shoulder. He was so vulnerable like this, and Jim’s heart swelled at the level of trust they’d managed to develop between them.

 

Jim lathered a cloth and began washing his Vulcan in slow gentle strokes. He let his fingers dance over the smooth skin, digging into any knots he found. Spock always carried so much tension. Then again, they both did. Everyone did on this ship.

 

“Are your hands or feet still hurting you?” Jim asked. “I have a dermal regenerator charged and ready if there’s still damage.”

 

“Negative. Doctor McCoy did a thorough job of healing me,” Spock replied. There was no comment about how Jim knew of his earlier injuries. Spock knew that Jim would have watched the entire thing from his secret viewing screen.

 

Jim smirked. “He’s a softie.”

 

Spock allowed himself a small smile as well. “Perhaps.”

 

“Who was your favourite tonight?” Jim asked.

 

“McCoy of course,” Spock answered without hesitation.

 

“Figured. What about second best?”

 

Spock hummed to himself a bit, mulling it over. “Sulu,” he decided.

 

“Really?” Jim asked in surprise. He knew perfectly well that his Vulcan was not a fan of real pain, and he most certainly had experienced it at the hands of Sulu that night.

 

“I appreciated his control,” Spock explained, then said no more.

 

“Ah.” That made sense, Jim thought. Spock wouldn’t have minded the selflessness required in servicing Uhura, but he wouldn’t have gotten anything out of it. And with Scotty, there may have been some small titillation involved in the act but Spock didn’t really like to be ignored. But Sulu... Jim could admit that Sulu made a formidable Dominant, and was just generally a formidable man. He could see how Spock would respond to the power dynamic of the situation, even if the pain wasn’t that fun.

 

Jim’s hand wandered south, and he prodded gently at Spock’s hole. It was still pliant from his time with McCoy, and Spock hissed a little at the attention. “Still sensitive?” Jim asked.

 

“A bit,” Spock admitted.

 

“But no damage?” Jim checked.

 

“None that I have noticed. And besides, the doctor is not so careless as to leave behind damage he did not intend.”

 

“You’re right,” Jim said, letting his prodding fingers fall away. He just felt protective of Spock after letting him out of his care for the night. He wanted to make sure he was okay. “Let’s get you out of the water and into something comfy and warm,” he prompted, helping Spock maneuver up and out.

 

When Spock was properly snuggled into his pj’s and sitting up in bed with a heap of pillows and blankets, Jim pulled a small platter onto their laps. Assorted fruits and cheeses, glasses of Spock’s favourite juice. Spock let himself show an uninhibited smile. “Jim,” he said warmly by way of gratitude. He knew by now that Jim wouldn’t want or accept any thanks.

 

“Open,” Jim instructed him and Spock dutifully dropped open his mouth to receive a piece of fruit. Bit by bit they worked through the platter until their appetites were sated. Well, all except for one.

 

“How do you want me tonight, sweetheart?” Jim prompted. He normally would choose their sexual configuration, which was to their mutual satisfaction, but tonight was Spock’s night. 

 

“On your back,” Spock answered without hesitation. “I wish to see you.”

 

Jim smiled and inched down in the bed, smiling up from his position on his back as Spock reached into the bedside table for the lube. They created a sort of tent of the blankets, the pillows spilling all around them, as they nestled into the warmth of their bed. Spock knelt between Jim’s spread legs, the blankets cloaking his shoulders, and he began to carefully work one long, lubed finger into Jim’s hole. He was tight, because it wasn’t every day that he bottomed. But he sighed at the sensation of it, trusting himself to Spock’s capable hands.

 

Jim felt his spine liquefy as Spock took his time in preparing him. Unlike Sulu’s hurried ministrations, Spock always took the time to explore, to feel, to reduce Jim to nothing but a puddle of need and desire. “Spock,” he said breathlessly, “I’m ready. Please.”

 

Just because he was Spock’s captain in all things, didn’t mean he wouldn’t sometimes beg when it was warranted. Jim knew very well that the loyalty and devotion that Spock afforded him could easily be taken away. It made their relationship all the more precious to him, for he needed to care for Spock just as much as Spock needed to serve and obey him.

 

Spock took mercy on him then and removed his fingers, slicking instead his long slender cock. With one gentle push then Jim could feel Spock inside of him, sliding deep and satisfyingly  into his guts. He took a few steady breaths, then rocked his hips, encouraging Spock to move. Spock didn’t need any more of a hint.

 

Jim closed his eyes as Spock began to fuck him in earnest, hitting that sweet spot inside of him on every other thrust. It was perfect. He might usually not like taking the more vulnerable role in this, but Spock certainly knew how to make it worthwhile. His attention to detail was complete. Jim groaned and clutched Spock’s shoulders, slitting his eyes open against his mounting pleasure. He wanted to  _ see _ Spock. They locked eyes as Spock in turn stared down at him. He’d wanted this face to face.

 

“May I?” Spock asked, breathing harshly, barely holding himself back from his full force.

 

Jim himself was too breathless, too distracted to answer aloud, but he gave a permissive nod. At that, Spock brought his hand up to Jim’s face in the familiar position, and within moments they slipped into one another. Another Vulcan miracle, one that Jim had hardly believed when he’d learned of it. Another secret weapon in his arsenal as well, though one he would never tell anyone else about if he could help it. This was his and Spock’s secret, this connection they shared, and they were both vulnerable to it and bound up within it.

 

Jim shouted as he came wetly between them, cock untouched, and he was dimly aware of Spock filling him with his release as well. All was hazy within the bond, that pervasive sense of  _ Spock _ invading his thoughts and senses. Then, slowly, Spock eased away, both physically and mentally. Jim pulled him down on his chest for the time being, unwilling to relinquish his hold entirely.

 

“I take it your evening is complete then?” Jim checked, as always feeling a little vulnerable, a little raw at sharing his Vulcan with others. He wanted to be sure that at least Spock had enjoyed himself. “You had a good evening?”

 

“Yes, Jim. _My Captain,_ ” he answered warmly.

 

Jim pressed a kiss into Spock’s messy hair and held him close. “Happy holidays, Spock,” he murmured softly. Tomorrow, there would be the mandatory crew party to attend, and that dreadful Secret Santa. But for now, cuddles. Warmth. Love.

 

“Happy holidays,” Spock murmured back.

 

 


End file.
